The Chronicles of an Extremely Displaced Being
by HannahBananasxx
Summary: "She was left for dead on that lonely street; utterly stranded for fate to find her." Thrown across time and space into perhaps a more chaotic world than her own; alone, and with no hope of getting back, what lies in the horizon for a girl who has no business in the 1930s? And how will meeting two Brooklyn boys change the course of her destiny? Bucky/OC (M for swearing).
1. Homecoming

_**Chapter One - Homecoming: a Prologue in Two Parts**_

* * *

 _But her mummy is yelling "No"_

 _And her daddy has told her to go_

 _But her friend is nowhere to be seen_

 _Now she walks through her sunken dream_

* * *

First, came the shrill cry of " _Peter!_ "

Second, was the blinding flash of an explosion.

Third, the hurtling of a girl across the ripping dimensions of expanding space and time.

Then—then there was the void. Endless. It drowned out her screams.

Finally, a dull thud as the girl who appeared from nowhere and everywhere at once fell on her back. She lay unconscious for several minutes more.

 _I'm alive,_ was the first she thought. She ran her hands down her chest, her arms, making sure she was intact. She pinched herself, wincing at the sensation. _I'm alive._ She repeated, she couldn't believe it. _But how? Dead for sure...I was dead for sure…I should be…_ She insisted; well she had to be, what else could have possibly happened?

It was dark, where she lay, and quiet; she looked up and saw black, dotted with glimmering white. _The night sky?_ Certainly what she saw before her—above her was unfamiliar from any system she has seen. She sat up, her muscles pulling and shouting with pain. Her mouth tasted like electricity…and… _ **mint**_? Around her, the smell of something sour, something rotting, something damp; it permeated the alley _. Laying in an alley of some kind…ughh, my head. I hope I don't have a concussion._ There in the alley, dirty, grimy and foreign, was a girl sprawled out on her back, winded and sooty, bleeding from her forehead to her cheek. It reeked, but really wasn't the worst alley she'd been in.

She picked herself up, groaning from the strain of the effort, her head hung heavily, her gear weighing her down, pain drawing its way up her back to her shoulders and her neck. _What? Where… am I? Peter! Peter? Where are you?_ Unconsciously, she felt for the pendant around her neck and gave it a squeeze, seeking the comfort she wished would come to her.

* * *

 _"This is bad! This is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad. This is very, very bad. Shit!" He panted, ducking out of the way from an incoming blast "We have to get out of here right now!"_

 _"Yeah, no shit!" His companion answered right beside him, her strides matching his. Right behind them were reinforcement troopers shouting after them in their alien language. No wonder they were so pissed off, how did these lone ravagers get past their defense systems and take down at least two squadrons on their own?_

 _Brother and sister hastily made their way down twisting, turning, dark labyrinthine corridors, the tails of their coats flying behind them, steam vents hissed out hot air like a seething beast, grates and weathered piping protruded from the walls and underneath them as they went further into the belly of the fortress command._

 _Stopping behind a darkened alcove filling with steam, she jerked her brother to her and together they caught their breaths. "I think we lost them. We have a couple of minutes, max!"_ _sounds echoed back from wall to wall, she wasn't really sure how far away those booming voices and thundering boots were._

 _"Don't worry. I have a plan." He reassured her, gulping air down, lungs burning, he brought his hands to his knees, crouching slightly, his hands almost slipping because of his sweating palms. "Oh, man, I have a stitch, a stitch right—right here." He pointed to his ribs whining, and continued to breath very heavily._

 _She smacked him in the arm, unprepared to deal such a big baby. "Well what's the plan? I'm all ears—seeing as we're so outnumbered." She grinned. "Thought this was an easy job." Spent, she leaned her head back against the wall._

 _Peter sighed, it was a long sigh, one that wished he was somewhere else, one that spoke of regret. "Me too, but listen, I'm sorry."_

 _She flinched at his words, and their situation suddenly seemed that bit more dire. There was concern in his eyes as she gripped her aching side where she had been struck."Hey. I don't regret what we've done to get here, Peter. Not at all." His companion assured him. "Besides, you can make it up to me later." She retorted smacking his arm a second time. Ignoring the growing strain. She was lucky it had not been from one of the numerous blasts they were fired. She gave a throaty chuckle, "What's the plan, man? On a side-note, I really hope it's a good plan, being gunned down is an unoriginal, but probably painful way to die."_

 _"We're not dying here, alright. I won't let you." He gripped her shoulder, "I won't, baby sis. Promise." She nodded silently, solemnly, it was a seriously childish thing to say—even for him. The girl knew it was probably too silly to make those sorts of promises, but she wouldn't blame him for it, she loved him too much to do that. "'Sides, we're just too dang pretty to die. Get to the roof, they'll have pods there, we can pilot one back to the ship." There was a cocky tone to his voice, even now as they ran from people trying to shoot them._

" _How? Are they just going to stop hunting us down? Turn a blind eye while we fly away?"_

 _"I'll distract them." he provided simply._

 _Her mouth opened wide in shock, she pushed her brother back to the wall, hoping to knock some sense into him, "What? You're not serious, Pete. They'll kill you." She said, anxiously, scrunching up her brows, staring her brother down._

 _"Not if you get to me first." He pressed, quickly checking his gear for any damages; "You'll come get me, that's the hard part." She pursed her lips as if she meant to say more but didn't. The pipes above her gave a low growl. When she more or less, didn't move, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and shoved her gently. "I'll be fine, go worry about yourself, you're getting the short end of the stick." He nodded his head towards her "Go on, Cowardly Lion." She remained unswayed, merely scoffing at his jab._

 _"I still don't get it." She voiced, grumbling darkly._ _ **What is with that reference?**_ _The girl pondered, shaking her head after she gave a final look to her brother; the lion-hearted girl started sprinting again._

* * *

"Peter." She whimpered, she felt like a child. Lost, tears welled in her eyes, chest tightening. A rib or two might be broken as well—it didn't matter now anyway. She stood up, her legs teetering. _Where is he?_ "I need—I need…Oh void, I can't remember…what is this place? How did I get here?" She whips her head around as if expecting someone behind her. _I'm alone_. No one else was in the alley with her.

"Ship. Scan for Peter." Her voice sounded like a raspy croak in her ears, her throat clogged. She tapped her earpiece again in annoyance. "Ship?" there came no answer. "Switch display to portable mode." The device attached to her ear responded to her voice activation command, opening out into a pair of goggles which wrapped around snugly on her face, whirring and clicking into place. The display flickered as it switched on, turning everything shades of red and blue, continuing to do rudimentary scan of her surroundings.

"Computer, find my brother."

"Apologies, there is no sign of target anywhere."

She grunted, "Fine. Locate the ship."

"Apologies. Out of range. There is no sign of target anywhere."

"'Out of range'? What do you mean-forget it. Scan and identify. Galaxy?"

"The 'Milky Way' spiral Galaxy."

"The system?"

"System designation number E-199999./.616.05A134\\\TK-V."

Giving another short grunt, "Elaborate." she said.

"The system of Sol."

"And the planet? Computer, _**where**_ in Sol?" the girl was way past frustrated, waving her arms as if she were talking to another person with a face, and arms and legs.

"Terra, or 'Earth'."

"Terra…" _It can't be._ The word stunned her into silence, for a planet she has heard so much about; she couldn't deny the fear and the shock that had settled deep within her belly. She rubbed at her eyes; black and white starbursts started blooming in her vision, wholly unconvinced of her predicament.

It was surreal. She had wanted so much to be here the minute her brother had talked her about it, to see what it was truly like, to touch its soil, to breathe in its atmosphere, and feel the warmth of its sun. She could not help but to imagine what he had told her when he had expressed that it was _**home**_. How could it be? What _**could**_ it be? It was everything yet nothing at the same time, it was new, unfathomable—thrilling.

What she felt in that moment was incomparable to what she thought it would be. A feeling of elation…then freezing state of being lost, being alone gripped her. Nails dug white crescent patterns on her palm. _He should be here. Here with me. We were supposed to go together. But I wouldn't even know now the first step to finding him._

She thought she had died. She had thought that the last thing she'd see was the metallic sheen of the missile which exploded on her. She had been petrified. In that singular point in time her mouth was dry, her eyes wide with shock. The words ' _This is where I die'_ ran in her mind _._ And the last thing, the very last thing she had thought of was Peter…and of Earth…and the time that was robbed of her being on Earth with him. _It's not fair._ Then an instant flash of green. Until finally she woke up in that blue marble of a planet.

That was it; those should have been her last moments alive. So why was she here? Her vision became blurred and her head spun, feeling as if it was packed full of stuffing. She turned to the mouth of the alley not knowing next what would come for her. There was a streetlamp at the end of the alley which lighted the entrance, she walked towards it. A hand to her rib and a step to her future, hesitant and excited she said in a low voice, "See, I'm home, Pete."

This was all that she could have uttered when from exhaustion, the girl that fell through the very fabric of time and space eventually blacked out and collapsed once more. She was left for dead on that lonely street; utterly stranded for fate to find her.

It just so happened that fate, incidentally, was called Sarah Rogers.

* * *

 _Oh man! Wonder if he'll ever know_

 _He's in the best-selling show_

 _Is there life on Mars?_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, how was it? Are you enjoying the story so far, my lovely reader? This has officially been my debut in the fanfic business. Yes, It's kinda short but it should get longer in the later chapters. Did you like it? Hopefully, if you do like it, and as long as my creative juices are flowing, I'd be able to pump out more of these babies soon. I've been wanting to publish this story for more than a year now. I haven't finished a lot of chapters either, but it just means that I really want them perfect before getting them published.

Consider this chapter like a prologue or a soft opening to my fic, we'd be able to find out more of our mysterious protagonist in the next coming chapters, so please be patient! I can't wait to share more of my world with you, I have plenty of stories in mind (if I actually get around to it) and plenty of OCs to nurture and I want to give them all a chance to shine. In saying this, I might have bitten off more than I can chew, but we'll get there (fingers crossed).

Any of you feel free to PM me—just if you want to talk or anything. Maybe I'll even reveal some story ideas or OCs. Follow the story if you want more! **Reviews would be encouraging. Just saying.**

Today's theme song for this chapter is by David Bowie, 'Life on Mars?' So listen to it while reading, okay? It's stellar.

I only own my OCs. I do not own any characters you might recognise, they are the property of Disney and Marvel. Nor do I own "Life on Mars", that belongs only to the late, great David Bowie; we miss you.

-HannahBananasxx


	2. And Fate was called Sarah Rogers

_**Chapter Two – And Fate was called Sarah Rogers**_

* * *

 _We used to cry_

 _About the day when one of us might fall_

 _Weak and blindly into another's arms_

 _[…]_

 _We thought we'd nothing more to lose_

* * *

When Sarah Rogers had finished her shift in the hospital she had put all thoughts of the nursing profession behind her, the less than glamorous spills and messes, the embarrassing diagnoses, the stitches she had tried to do meticulously… _None of that now_. It was the end of the day and one of the girls had just come by to take the new shift. She went into the women's locker room, folded and packed away her white uniform, changing into the dress and coat she had brought with her, checking the mirror for any stray hairs that may have come out of her hastily done up-do. Sarah Rogers: a tough old Brooklyn gal, a ferocious mother, ready to go _**home**_.

All thoughts now went to her son Steven who, coincidentally was already waiting for her outside of the building. Her mouth was quirked to the side when she put her hands on her hips and scolded him. "I thought I told you not to wait up for me Steven. It's late." She had told him this morning, before she left; told him as sternly as she could have. But she knew full well—in the back of her mind—that her son; with his too-good head on his shoulders—wouldn't heed her advice and come for her anyway at 11 o'clock at night. Still, she was a little bit pleased that she raised her son right, like a true gentleman.

Steve, her son, shrugged and nodded his head half-mindedly trying to console his mother. "I couldn't let you walk home by yourself, Ma. Someone's gotta be there to watch you." Steve silently took her bag from her and they began walking side by side towards home. _He looks a little pale today,_ the again, he almost always did; still, a mother worries about these kinds of things, she wondered if he was eating right and when he took his medicine last. But Sarah knew better than asking him, it would only make him more self-conscious. So she said nothing and let him take her arm.

"You make me sound like I'm 65, kid. I'm old—but I'm not that old." Steve pouted marginally, "Aww, c'mon kid!" Sarah guffawed, putting her arm around her boy and giving him a short, crushing hug. Her eyes crinkled, the light crows feet around them seemed to simultaneously disappear, looking about ten years younger when she laughed. She followed by giving him a stern look. "Your momma's tough. An' she can still beat up any two-bit thug from Brooklyn to Jersey."

"Sure, Ma." He nodded, looking away as he smiled shyly.

"That's a _fact,_ Steven Grant Rogers. Don't you dare try an' sass me, boy. I'm not dead. Wipe that smart grin off your face." Steve just smiled a lot harder at this, his lips pulling back showing a good set of teeth. Of all the things her son could have gotten in life, he had been given a good head, an honest heart, a brave stomach, kind eyes and a nice set of teeth. People would think him charming if he wasn't so damn _**gawky**_. Sarah resented the fact that the neighborhood kids had picked on him, but Steve soldiered on like no other. His too-large clothes rustled as he raised his hand to his still smiling mouth, clearing his throat. He tried to hide his laughter in an onset of unconvincing coughs to no avail.

Sarah just eyed him warily and batted the back of his head. "You're lucky you ain't a two-bit thug, kid." Steve only shrugged. "How's James?"

"The same. Still asking for trouble."

"And you're not getting into anymore, I hope."

"You'd be happy to know, that I do _try_. But 'm fine, Buck watches out more than enough for the both of us."

The pair stopped by Carl's Deli, a nice block away from their building. They'd stayed to shop for luncheon meats, pork-chops, a bit of cheese and some bread for the rest of the week. Carl had lived on the top floor of his delicatessen and was always happy to stay open late, "You do what you gotta do to keep floating in this economy, son. Sit on your hands and you'll start drowning in all that bullshit." Carl would mention, followed by a short "Chin up, kid! Life ain't so bad, you could be standing in hog's blood all day!" often saying this with a careless wave of his big butcher's knife that he had been using everyday for 20 years, and would always lift up Steve's spirits, have him smiling. Sarah would shake her head and nag him for cussing.

Mother and son walked out together, more than prepared to get home for the night.

"You finish all your homework, kid?" They crossed the street, only a few more minutes until they reached their place.

"All done, ma."

"I keep telling you, Steve, you can do a lot, but you cannot, and I repeat, you cannot let those grades _drop_ by slacking off, alright? I'm not working my behind off in the hospital for my son not to receive the best education I can get 'im."

"You don't have to worry yourself, ma. I get by just fine."

"Good. You better." She affirmed with a nod and a look of motherly approval. "Hey did you hear about Mrs. Daniels and the—" Sarah abruptly stopped, she gasped as she gazed at the crumpled heap a couple of yards away, half-hidden by the murky night. The bleak flame of the streetlamp spotlighting the figure, it caught the material of a red coat; from the distance she could already tell from its shape that the red-leather heap was a body. She was suddenly praying to the heavens it wasn't some maniac or a dead guy if she was at least going to come to them. "Lord! Steve! Steven-come on hurry!" she exclaimed, dropping her groceries and bolting off towards the unconscious body.

Sarah got to her knees, turning the person over, their blonde hair splashed over the side of their face, matted with blood, darkened with dirty soot. "It's a girl…" Steve sighed in recognition, a hand running through his hair, his eyes darting from her face to her strange attire, all leather and thick heavy fabric. The girl was a stark red and yellow spill on the near-black asphalt.

"Hell, she's a kid. My god, what happened to you, poor thing?" His mother worried, checking next if the girl was breathing, tilting her head up to clear the airways, she waved her hand over the girl's mouth and nose, "She's not breathing!" Sarah declared, fingers flying to the girl's neck, searching for a pulse that was only barely there.

As fast as she could, the woman turned immediately from mother back to nurse in a second; frantically, systematically pumped the girl's chest up and down. Up and down, up and down, compressions—an agitated, disconcerting rhythm; she opened the girl's mouth to forcibly breathe air back into her lungs. Up and down, up and down, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. _Breathe!_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. _Breathe!_ One, two, three—"Steven! Steven—" she grabbed for her son's arm who was a step-or-two away, his hands balled into fists. She yanked him to her.

He looked moderately distressed while his mother tried to revive the girl. "Get Stanley from next door— _get help!_ " His mother stressed as she continued her compressions and Steven Grant Rogers, for all he was worth, ran the next dozen yards to their building and up two flights of stairs to their neighbor's apartment.

"We can't have a girl die in front of our building! Brooklyn's bad enough," she focused on her compressions, unwilling to give up on the girl on the side of the road. "Lord, don't you take this poor child now." Sarah intoned with such caution it was surely to wake even the dead. _One, two, three, four, five_ —Sarah hadn't yet finished counting when the girl underneath her rose several inches, eyelids fluttering open, sucking in much needed air into her sore lungs. The girl coughed and sputtered for a moment or two until her eyes (for the second time this evening) rolled back into her head and shortly fell back down again, her breathing, finally normal.

"Oh, Lordy, _thank you_." Sarah murmured, raising her exhausted face to the heavens breathing a sigh of intense relief, palming her forehead; she decided she might have to carry the girl back to their apartment after all if Steve didn't return with Stanley soon…

* * *

 _Back on the run; sweat dripping down from the base of her hairline to her booted feet_ _ **. Almost there. Get to the pods now!**_ _There were still troopers behind her, but not as much if Peter hadn't declared himself as bait. God be damned, he_ _ **would**_ _buy her some time. She would be able to deal with the ass-hats after her, thanks to him; still, she had to get to a pod ship as soon as possible to haul his ass out from the fire._

 _From the looks of things they were trying to herd her into a different direction, trying to block the paths to the hallways. It didn't look good for her main objective. She was more than pleased they were not able to shoot yet, the hallways were narrow and curved, any stray shot could ricochet off them and void only knows who they would hit, accidentally or not. Acting now rather than later, she ran up the face of an incoming wall with the guards armed and right behind her. Her body was agile enough and with the help of the jet boosters attached to her boots she flipped, and sailed right above the guards. She caught them unaware, landing solidly right behind the group, and after several well-aimed shots, she took each of them down. They never knew what hit them._

 _Getting to the roof after a considerable number of flights of stairs took a lot more effort than she thought it would. The lashing winds at the rooftop worked to whip her blonde hair away from her face and neck, cooling off her sweat. She could feel the strain starting to get to her. It was almost sundown on the planet, the star sinking sluggishly into the horizon; a bright ball of gas and flame being submerged slowly into a scarlet, soupy sky. The girl tapped the comms line in her ear, "Peter, I'm on the roof! I'm going to come get you. Hold on!"_

 _"Holding, uhh copy!" He answered, the static buzzing in her ear._

 _She dashed to the nearest pod she could get to; it was unfortunately at the other end of the rooftop. Hacking the pods' main control and flight functions she turned on the ignition. "Just—hang on okay, I'm having trouble getting this hunk of shit started!" trouble Damned if they get to kill her brother before she's had the chance to do it herself._ _**Damn it Pete, now's not the time to play hero.**_

 _She could hear Peter having trouble, she could tell by the undignified yelling and unfiltered profanities pouring from his comms unit. "No, no, nope! Bad idea, don't shoot, don't shoot! Do not do that—do not do—" the transmission cut off, she knew his last message wasn't directed at her, probably to the goons chasing them, static buzzed in the comms accompanied with what sounded like laserfire and clanging metal. "Motherfu—" the comms cut off once more._

 _"Peter? Pete!"_

 _"Sorry, sorry. I told him not to shoot his gun in that goddamn hallway." He grunted, "Change of plans, I'm coming to you!"_

 _"What?"_

 _"Incoming!" he yelled, bursting through the rooftop doors in a banging clamour. He bore deep gashes criss-crossing his face, his was hair starting to singe as assaulting fire came like a maelstrom behind him._

 _She got the pod off-ground, the engines hummed and she willed it to go higher, flicking on switches and pulling on levers. It was different than a standard model Class-9 pod, modified to carry larger arms, but at the cost of it being harder to maneuver, clunkier, but she'd make do._

 _Peter was taking cover behind a wrecked pod, the lasers assailing him wearing down the metal, "Anytime you wanna join in, you're welcome!" He groaned in her ear, troopers continuing their fire and advancing, coming closer and closer to Peter._

 _She charged the pod at them, weapons hot and locking on to their targets. "Nobody is killing my brother," she depressed the trigger and ripped holes straight through armour and flesh, "especially not you jerks!" she felt each kick of the gun as she rained fire above them. It was done before she knew it, the troopers already scattered on the ground, blackened with laserfire burns. Her breathing came out heavy, she was rattled and it took a few seconds to compose herself, to recognize where she was. Disbelief covered her expression, she did it, and they can go home. "Pete? I'm lowering a ladder down to you."_

 _But he couldn't reply, couldn't understand what he saw, Peter had only seen it at the last moment. It came out of nowhere, one second it wasn't there and the next it was almost right on top of her._ _ **She**_ _didn't see it until it was too late, witnessing the mean glint of grey as it rocketed to her. The girl didn't register her brother yelling for her from the ground, didn't hear his voice ringing in her ears. It was a missile, and it was coming straight for her._

 _He screamed, he screamed for the only thing tying him down to an opportunity at something normal, he screamed with everything he had. "NITA! GET OUT OF THERE NOW—" his voice cracked, rising octaves, his hand raised, reaching to her—his sister._

 _"Peter!" she cried, knowing it was her end, feeling it was too soon._

 _He heard her voice ring clear as day in his ear. She was going to die and she didn't even get the chance to close her eyes. In an instant, Peter had lost everything in the world for a second time. He saw the only person left that he loved disintegrate in fire and metal and bitter blood. He could do nothing but watch as remnants of his sister floated down in burning embers. Part of him wished he were with her. Part of him died with her. He wished to hell he'd wake up from this never-ending nightmare._

* * *

She woke with a start, bolting from the covers placed on top of her. Tears ran down her chin, she shivered from a cold sweat. She felt herself shake; she ran her hands down her face, her hair. Her torso was still dressed in her camisole, she peeked underneath the thin material and poked at the bandages that held together her ribs, plastered her wounds, small splotches of red bloomed like poppies. _Still alive. I'm not dead. It wasn't a dream._ "Peter." she said, teeth grinding as she tried to stop her crying.

It was morning, sunlight filtered through thin drapes, warming the whole room, casting a soft yellow light. She was in a different place now, still unfamiliar, a bedroom painted in cream. It was sparingly decorated, a dresser here, a chair there, two nightstands, a lamp, a vanity. The floorboards, the furnishings, everything made of wood, all excepting the light by the bedside. The vanity in the corner held a small polished mirror.

She frowned at her reflection, looking to have risen from the dead (which was probably the case on her matter). Her blonde hair: still in its braid, but was a greasy, dirty mess and was horridly coming apart. There were bandages on her face, circles under her eyes, she had a cut on her lip that was starting to swell and a bruise on her chin. Scrapes, bangs and gashes were more evident without her coat.

She looked all colours of the damn rainbow. Someone must have taken her here, bandaged her up, changed her out of her clothes—taken care of her. _Why?_

She rips the covers and steps out of the lumpy bed, springs squeaking in protest. Nita noticed that while her outer-garments were taken off, she still wore her pants and camisole, though doesn't see her clothes lying around anywhere, or her gear. Spying her necklace placed delicately on the bedside table, she snatched it off, quickly placing it around her where it should be.

The door to her left suddenly opened. The girl madly grabbed for the nearest thing to use as a weapon—it was a dark bound book, something called a 'King James Version'. She yelled, stopping in mid-swing, completely surprised when she saw what stepped through the door.

Startled, the boy that came through her door dropped the small metal bowl and the rag he was holding with a yelp. The bowl made a short clanging sound as it landed; the water splashed their feet. He didn't think she'd be awake to say the least. The girl narrowed her eyes at the boy, looking him up and down, gauging how quickly she'd be able to dispose of him (if he tried anything that is).

In summary what she saw was: shorter, skinnier than a rail and smaller than her. The boy was a thin wire of a thing, a bush without its shrubbery. He looked like a smear of yellow, white and brown stretched too sparingly on a canvas. He had shaggy blonde hair, darker at the roots, lighter than her burnished blonde locks; it looked to be made of feather-down, flopping to one side. Complemented with a straight nose and serene blue eyes, the prominence of his open features couldn't quite exactly match the body he had.

Immediately, he put his hands up in surrender, face turned away,eyes screwed shut preparing himself for a hit. " _Nopleasedon't!_ " he strung out, arms covering his head. Caught off-guard she lowered the book but gripped it a bit tighter. They stood for a time in silent tension, both baffled and intrigued. Hesitantly, he lowered his arms and gave a nervous laugh. "Didn't think I was prepared to be beat down by the words of our Lord this early in the morning." Joking uneasily.

The look on the girl's face was incredulous. "Wh—huh?" she prepared to swing once more, raising her arms threateningly. The look in her eyes: livid.

The boy still had his hands in front of his face, "You know, the bible..." he smiled awkwardly, trying to calm her, "Coz' people usually wait until Sunday?"

She shook her head in confusion, raising her voice "What are you—"

She didn't finish her train of thought when all of a sudden, Steve heard the apartment door open and close unceremoniously, a familiar voice calling out from the living room. "Hey! Steve!" the voice boomed, a set of footfalls signaled them coming closer. "I heard from old Stanley that your mom found a dead girl on the stree—holy shiii-smokes. Holy smokes." the person grabbed at his hair, ruffling it unconsciously. "That's her…this is her isn't it?" he muttered, pointing at 'dead girl'; he took in the battered state and the shell-shocked face it came with. _At least she's not dead, right?_ This new boy came in with windswept hair and bright grey-green eyes like a thunderstorm, a storm with pouty lips and a dimpled chin (a weakness to many, or so it happened). His mouth hung open in a small 'o' when he took a small step back, doing a double take, gaping at the sight before him.

Who he saw was a girl: tall, freckled, with strawberry blonde hair and the deepest hazel eyes. Her features were not slight or delicate, but commanding and purposeful. It was as if the master that composed her drew his model in absolute precision strokes, neither line nor freckle wasted. _How's that saying go? If looks could kill…_ If looks **could** kill-they'd be goners. She was waving the book she held so tightly in front of her, not knowing who posed the most immediate threat, coloured black and blue and carrying a bit of a homicidal tendency; the stranger briefly wondered if he was dangerously close to falling in love. "Holy smokes." he uttered again.

Her face scrunched up, looking between the both of them furiously as she faltered to regain composure. The entire scene looked like a comic caricature; the girl terrorizing to bludgeon them with a bible, Steve shrinking in on himself and the stormy boy slowly backing away, unsure whether to be scared pissing himself or rolling on the floor laughing (also pissing himself). Inelegantly, there was a lot of pee in the equation.

Finally, Steve-as that was his name was apparently, according to the one she dubbed 'stormy boy'-broke the longest, most awkward first impression in history. He cleared his throat, and with a clap said, "Now I think we all better sit down before we do anything drastic."

* * *

 _And now we're moving to new beginnings_

 _But as we move we looked once behind_

 _To see what we might find out_

* * *

 **A/N: O** kay, I was way too anxious to share another chapter rather than to withhold and update like a normal person, but because I am the most impatient person you will ever meet...you're goddamn welcome!

Phew! That's chapter 2 done and dusted. We've got a very small glimpse into our heroine's identity. I'm sure we're shivering with antici… _pation_. Had to do that one, sorry, not sorry. Hope you've enjoyed Sarah and Steve, even that tiny Bucky cameo. I'm super excited to get the rest under way.

Anyhow, today's chapter song is 'More to Lose' by Seona Dancing. I just did a quick google search and the artist is none other than Ricky Gervais. Who knew, right?

As always, I'd love to hear from you, seriously! Give me anything! Send me a PM or even just review. Followers and favourites would be greatly appreciated. It really does light a fire under my ass and encourages me to write knowing people out there like my story.

As always...Many thanks! And happy fanfic hunting!

I only own my OCs. I do not own any characters you might recognise, they are the property of Disney and Marvel. Nor do I own 'More to Lose', shout out to David Brent.

-HannahBananasxx


	3. Good Intentions

_**Chapter Three – Good Intentions**_

* * *

 _If you like Pina Coladas, and gettin caught in the rain._

 _If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain._

 _If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape._

 _I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me, and escape._

* * *

 _There was no feeling better to him in this world than the feeling after being paid. And paid_ _ **good**_ _. He chuckled smugly to himself as he watched his bank balance rise; the wire transfer beeping in completion for the amount of twenty-five-thousand units. He had strolled out of the broker shop with the wicked grin of a rich man, Rupert Holmes crooning in his ears. The salty sweet breeze on the marina bay wharf tousled his copper-blonde hair. It was the middle of the day and the job was done, he had a shit-eating grin on his face and a spring to his step…and—_ did that hot space babe just wink at me? Could this day get any better or what?

 _He decided that he might just be persuaded to buy property here on this planet. It wasn't as bad as planets go, and with the interstellar economic downturn, he might just have a chance. Why not? It was one of the main docking planets, a pit-stop. But a popular pit-stop at that one._ _ **I could put an adequate settlement on a condo, buy the condo, have a place to stay besides one of Yondu's stolen ships. It could be good, it could be nice. Retire when I have enough money, or not. Live the perpetual life of space piracy, who knows? They can't tell me what to do. They can't expect me to live my whole life like this, right?**_

" _Right." He answered himself firmly, looking out into the bay; maybe he'll buy himself a fancy dinner later (for a job well-done of course). People milled around him to and fro making about their day as usual. It wasn't at all a bad view on the Kodyak Bridge, of artificially made waves crashing soothingly onto sand, beachfront bars and eateries on the bay, families roaming the swell (hand in hand, of course), the smell of salt, sun and ship metal._

 _In short, he was in heaven._

 _But he didn't get to revel in his little slice of heaven for very long until a tap on his shoulder announced a very hesitant smaller person and her unfamiliar voice reached his ears, calling out his name. "Peter?"_

 _Okay, so not that much smaller really, but doubly hesitant. A girl stood before him, she was shorter than him, only reaching the level of his nose, and younger by a few years; she looked sixteen, at least judging by his standards. The teen looked up at him with such intensity in her hazel stare that it stunned him. "Peter Quill? Peter_ _ **Jason**_ _Quill?" the girl stressed furrowing her golden brow._

" _Depends on who's asking, kid." He said, snapping out of it, shrugging. The girl pressed her lips together briefly, scrunching her nose—the kind of which pointed up toward the end like so many young peoples' did—emphasising her youth fittingly._

 _She scratched her head; the hair had reminding him of haystacks on a farm he had briefly lived at back on earth, it was similar in colour to his and carefully braided in the back. She had worn a speculative expression and held herself with an experienced caution beyond her measly years "Please," she insisted, "Are you? Peter Jason Quill…from Terra?" He wanted blow her off once more, to even pull her leg a bit, but there was such a seriousness to her expression; a tender anxiety, a_ _ **desperation**_ _that stopped him from doing just that._

" _Yes." He nodded slowly, growing impatient and placing his hands on his hips._

 _Her mouth was slightly parted open making it appear smaller despite how full the lips were, the pink of her mouth contrasting with the sparsely placed freckles which flayed out across her nose and cheeks. She let out an unexpected breath; it came out of her like the sucking of breath from a swimmer coming up for air. She was relieved, and just so-_ _ **so damn glad**_ _. A smile broke out on her face as she looked to him, it permeated her whole body, she was happy, though immediately sobered up after a thought. She looked down for a minute, avoiding is line of sight, deep in thought. "I'm…" she began, then dropping off—not knowing how to proceed._

 _Starting again, steeling herself, she spoke in a low, hushed tone. Her candid gaze slowly but surely unnerving him by the sheer agonising appearance of hope they carried, they became rounded and altogether larger as she continued her hold on him. She smiled an indeliberate, breaking smile. "My name is Leonita." And after some deliberation, like a whispered secret she shared, "I'm…I'm your_ _ **sister**_ _."_

 _Looking at him with such fearful eyes, he met hers with a blank, icy gaze. She was painfully aware of the pleasantry of the day dying as the sun dipped low into the bay, the light dying in the gargled water, their silhouettes casting dark shadows upon the bridge. He laughed loudly, abrasively, not a trace of humour in his eyes. "Get outta here kid, you're insane."_

" _But—"_

" _No. No. No. No. Absolutely not. My god! Who put you up to this, huh?" He said laughed humorlessly like a madman, gripping her arms too tightly. "Did Yondu put you up to this?"_

 _She eased herself from his grip cautiously, still wanting his trust. She did not look to be in immense pain but was eager to pry herself away from his testing clutch. "I don't know what you're talking about." She shook her head. Tears were threatening to spill from her hazel eyes. People around them started to stare, stopping to watch what broke the afternoon peace, mothers stopped with their children in tow, old men sitting on benches looked up from their datapads, women erupting to whisper among one another._

" _You're kidding, right? So did Yondu put you up to this or not? Is this because I stole one of the ships, one of his clients? Is he pissed about that?" he started listing things at the top of his mind, asking himself what he could have done to trigger such an underhanded assault from the man whom almost served as a second father. She was still shaking her head, but that made him more impatient, "Tell me!"_

" _I am. I'm telling you the truth! Just listen to me, I'm your sist-"_

" _No!" he yelled, cutting her off, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare finish that sentence; you are not my sister, alright? I don't want to hear it. Look, kid._ _ **Go home**_ _. I don't have time for this." He growled, walking away._

 _She shook her head adamantly at his words so torn, so confused. She didn't understand what was happening, tears started to stream down her eyes, why was this happening, why wouldn't he listen?_ _ **It's not supposed to be like this. He's supposed to be happy.**_ " _I am! I am your sister." She sobbed, trying to catch his hand, he batted hers away._

 _He turned to face her. "_ _ **NO**_ _. No, you're not. Because you_ _ **can't**_ _be, okay? My mother is dead, she's been dead nineteen years, which seems to be even before you were born. And unless, she's had a child that she somehow kept hidden from the kid she's taken care of everyday until she_ _ **flatlined**_ —" _he spat out the word, it stung acidly on his tongue. His face torn, an amalgam of ferocity and refute in jarring heartbreak_ _He leaned in closer towards her, nearer inch-by-inch, "You are not my sister. So beat it, alright?" he said, barely containing his aggravation now, "If you know what's good for you."_

" _You can have more than_ _ **one**_ _biological parent, you ass!" she screamed unwilling to hear any more of his pig-headedness._

 _He snapped his attention straight to her, shock marring his deteriorating composure._ She can't be. She can't be _. He chanted in his mind. "Leave!" He didn't want to dredge up anything concerning his father; he wanted nothing to do with the man that abandoned his mother, sadistically abandoning his supposed 'love' after getting her pregnant. The father who abandoned him, who sent not one Christmas or birthday card, who did not bother to check up on them or bothered to acknowledge their existence. The man who left his mother who had worked two sometimes three jobs just to get them through the week. For all he cared his father could be burning in hell and it wouldn't matter. He didn't care about anything to do with a man_ **. Nope. Not a damn thing. Most importantly not an estranged half-sister. And how did she find him anyway?**

" _Hey! Is this some kind of joke to you? Do you really think I travelled cosmos just to pull some prank? How petty…how_ _ **small**_ _do you think I am? Just to torment somebody?" He gave her a pained expression and started to move away in the same direction. "No! Don't you walk away…you don't get to do that!"_

" _What?" she had blocked his path, an infuriated expression displayed on her face; her healthily tanned skin discolouring as she started growing red._

" _I'm not going anywhere! Not until you give me something," she supplied, "…and not just anything, either."_

" _ **You**_ _don't get it. You're completely buggin' okay little girl? You don't get to just barge into my life. You don't know me. You're not my sister."_

" _And_ _ **I'm**_ _telling_ _ **you**_ _, that I'm not leaving." Her voice was rising, her anger making her words harsh. They were well and truly making a scene now. "My entire life, I've been following responsibilities put on me. Taught how to think, how to act. All the while thinking that all there is for me is just to be left in a corner…waiting to be used." The girl was crying now and it didn't look like she was going to stop soon. "Then I started searching for answers, and I found you. Like it or not, we're family, we're the same. You can't just send me back empty-handed. All those years waiting in solitude, all those months trying to find you—that—that can't all be for nothing."_

" _I don't have anything to tell you but to go home."_

" _No. I refuse to believe that! I refuse to believe that the only family I can turn to denies to see me as anything but a stranger. I can't believe that."_

" _Well you better start. Because if you didn't notice, we're done here."_

* * *

 _So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place._

 _I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face._

 _It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."_

 _And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew"._

 _[…]_

 _You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape._

* * *

The living room was small, but tidy, quiet, except for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the breathing of three teens. As suggested, they all sat down, the two boys sitting on the couch and the girl on one of the armchairs.

There was a glass of water in front of her, cool in her hands, it was offered by the smaller blonde boy. _The soft one,_ she thought. She held the glass with both hands and stared down the two boys, the Bible still on her waiting lap. _Give me a reason_ , it said. The stormy one was merely content with playing with the hem of his shirt as he watched her.

Steve shifted awkwardly in his seat, nervously smiling at his guest. His fingers tapped silently on his knees. His best friend beside him sat still, eyes on the girl and her bare shoulders. _Oh, she has freckles there too._ He realised, smiling more confidently, more carelessly than Steve (who was trying not to look anywhere but her eyes).

"I think, I should take the liberty of filling you in first, uh, Miss..." Steve glanced to her gesturing with his open hand, stopping for a name.

"Nita. You can call me Nita." She expressed, sitting that much straighter, lifting her chin up. At least her translator implant was working fine.

"Nita," Steve tested, deciding that it suited her, "Well, Nita, after we fill in some blanks, then we can ask you some questions, that sounds fair, right?" he spoke to her, she nodded in response. He turned to his friend beside him, "What do you think Buck?"

"Sounds fair to me, Stevie." The stormy boy conceded, a spark of amusement in his green eyes.

The girl turned her attention to the soft one. "I'm Steve, this here's my friend, Bucky." Steve said, gesturing to the dark haired boy. "My ma and I found you on the street. You were half-dead, we brought you up here, and uh…ma fixed you up, changed your clothes." He said, blushing at the state of her undress. The stormy boy—Bucky just sat there with a smile on his face.

"Why'd you help me?" she demanded stoically.

"Why wouldn't we?" Steve retorted instantly, seeing her discontentment he further added, "'Coz, you know, you help people if you can. You'd help them because if it were you in their place…that's how you'd want to be treated." He leaned in closer, trying to bridge the gap between him and her. "It's the decent thing to do." He looked into her eyes earnestly, patient blue orbs holding hazel. He spoke like his words were fact, like they were the most obvious reaction to finding a half-dead girl on the street.

"Very Christian of you, pal." Bucky chuckled.

"I'm Catholic."

"Where am I?" the girl spoke.

"That's easy," Bucky informed her, "We're in Brooklyn, the greatest city in the world." He spread out his arms, their span flourishing in a grandiose gesture. The boy laughed easily; it was part of his charm, he laughed like he'd been laughing the day he was born, laughed like he was willing to give them all away, like he was the richest guy in the world. Steve smirked, flashing his straight teeth in affirmation.

She shook her head; she had no idea what they were talking about. "Where's Brooklyn?" the boys looked at each other like the question made no sense, they turned to her both confused.

"Wow, you're in for a spin—Brooklyn. As in Brooklyn, New York," He specified, giving her an odd look, to which the girl just shakes her head. Like she has no damn clue what I'm gabbing on about. "…As in the United States of America?" He drawled.

Nita nodded, "Okay…um…" she looked around befuddled, her eyes darting to the wooden furniture and uncanny lack of sophisticated gadgets that was her common norm, gadgets that blinked and coloured the rooms in an array of brightly coloured lights, that buzzed and beeped and made sounds that filled the streets. "What _year_ is it, exactly?" Something told her that she wouldn't like their next answer.

"Jeezus, little Miss, you really _are_ lost aren't you?" he turned to his shorter companion explaining, "Steve, she musta' hit her head harder than your ma thought."

Steve chose to consider the comments his friend made beside him. "It's 1934." He saw the girl's panic in her eyes, widening in shock. He looked for an answer in Bucky, who unhelpfully shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. He was equally flummoxed and bore the same exact expression Steve himself, had. "I think, we should slow down, put you back to bed. If you're this disoriented, you might be suffering like…I don't know…some form of amnesia probably?"

"Oh no." The girl whispered to herself, blinking sporadically as she tried to do the math. _No wonder…I'm not just galaxies away, I'm decades off track! Peter's hasn't even been born. His mother hasn't even been born! Shit. I'm in deep shit._ She clutched at her hair and stumbled backwards, the boys rushing to her side to keep her steady.

Bucky put her arm around him to support her. "Woah there, girl. Easy," He said slowly, and Steve led them back to the couch.

They sat her down again, Steve gnawing at his lip as the girl put her face in her hands. She felt sick to her stomach, queasy, nauseous—bottom line: she wanted to puke. Steve looked to Bucky he was at a loss at what to do, his counterpart merely shrugged and shook his head at him. ' _Why'd you think I'd know how to deal with this_?' was what his expression told him.

Steve shrugged his shoulders too, ' _I don't know! You have a sister!_ ' he pressed silently, gesturing to Bucky who was also lost. ' _REBECCA_.' Steve mouthed.

Steve got him there. ' _Oh, right!_ ' Bucky nodded. Still, Bucky didn't know what to do, now that they'd finished their silent conversation, he settled instead for patting her back in what could have been the most awkward pat on the back received or given by anyone ever. He really wasn't that much of an expert in consoling girls, he made as much of them cry as he did charm them; what with teasing his sister mercilessly at times and the breaking up with the girls he took out… _I should probably be more careful_. Steve watched with strange fascination wordlessly; blessing his lucky stars he wasn't on the receiving end of that pat.

She had immediately froze after she finally acknowledged the uncomfortable sensation forced upon her back in sporadic increments. She rose from the chair she had thrown herself onto, surprising Bucky and Steve. "Where's my stuff?" Nita finally asked after enduring what she humanely could from Steve's friend.

* * *

 _She snuck into his ship, it was easy enough; he stopped by a bar, probably for a very large, very hard drink. Her hiding space was tiny and cramped, it would probably do numbers for her back later but she ignored the strain and pulled a motley looking cover over her head, it should suffice for now. She just had to convince him that she was telling the truth and then maybe he'd really accept her._ _ **He has to. He just didn't see it clearly yet, but he will. I'll convince him.**_

 _She must have fallen asleep where she was, because before she knew it, the ship was already in motion. Peter was in the cockpit, the coordinates for his next job blinking on the map, when he banked a little too hard to the left and most of his things cluttered and flew to one side. It was at that point when he heard a not so distant "Oof!" behind him. He jumped from his chair in a shot, and trudged his way where the sound originated from, a hand reaching for his blaster._

" _What the hell?" Tossing aside the heavy cloth, Peter was genuinely surprised when the offending material revealed a girl inelegantly squished between the wall and one of the ship's consoles. She looked at him, not certain how to feel exactly after being caught._

 _He hoisted her up, gracelessly, hands tightening on her arms. "What are you doing here?"_

" _Ow, ow!" she whined._

" _What are you doing here Leonita?"_

" _I'm spending some time with my brother." She informed him. "Whether he wants it or not."_

" _No, I absolutely do not." Peter crossed his arms on top of his chest, tilting his head to one side._

" _Well what are you going to do?" she asked, planting her butt on the edge of the console and crossing her arms just as he had. "Jettison me out of the airlock? From a moving ship, no less?"_

" _If I have to." His words cut short, the threat gleaming in his eyes._

" _That sounds cruel, even from you." She spoke slowly, as she tried to judge how far she can push him._

" _How would you know, you don't even know me." He exasperated, arms waving about._

" _I'm trying to." She half-yelled, "Can't you?" It was a sincere request, one that broke her voice, she looked down as she realised she was about to cry. "I know…I know you don't like it, for what it's worth, I don't want to hurt you. But the fact is, I am your sister and I am not going anywhere."_

 _Peter groaned. He held that groan for a long time. Like a really long time. With his eyes shut tight, he rubbed at them with one hand. He was getting a migraine from this girl, and it annoyed him to no end. He just wanted to be rid of her and go back to the way things were, when he was alone. The way he liked it. "What do I need to do to make you go away?"_

" _Take me with you. One mission." She articulated, "You're halfway to your next job right? Let me do it with you, I'll help out. I learn fast and I can hold my own. And if you still want me gone after that, then fine. I'll go." the girls spoke with enthusiasm that only made Peter more suspicious._

" _Just like that hunh?"_

" _Just like that." she nodded her head, a small change of confidence back in her. "'Sides, it would be a waste of time just to turn the ship around and drop me off in a nearby system." He eyed her skeptically, making sure to keep her whole person in sight. This was out of character of her._ _ **There must be a catch somewhere, somehow…**_ _She did make a good point however, and it would save him the effort of travelling back and refuelling the ship, plus she could be of some use._

 _ **What could one mission hurt?**_ " _One mission? Deal." He couldn't help but just feel a little doubtful of the plan he had hatched in his head when she returned his agreement with a strange satisfactory smile. He just wanted her gone._

* * *

Nita had dashed past Steve into the room where her gear was kept and quickly began to don on her Ravager leathers. "Hey, wait." He called after her, shuffling as she tried to put her boots on. "You can't just leave, you're injured. You could have a serious concussion!" The girl moved quickly, strapping her gear on, securing her weapons (all still there, thankfully). "Brain damage!" he prattled on.

"No time." She replied, checking over her blaster gun. "I can't just stay here, I've got to do something! He'll think I'm dead."

"Do what?" Bucky asked, stepping forward as she walked past the Rogers' apartment door.

"I don't know! Something!" she was her way down the flight of stairs, two at a time. She had no idea what she was going to do, or where she was going, but she couldn't stay. She needed a way back to Peter.

"Nita! Wait!" Steve yelled from above her, poking his head out from the barrister, his cream coloured shirt matching the wallpaper of the stairwell.

"Who'll think you're dead?" Bucky joined, running after her.

The front door of the building opened and the world that greeted her was not unlike anything she'd seen before. It felt strangely familiar, busy and fast-paced. Brooklyn was all a-buzz, it was the start of summer and everyone was outside; children played stickball in alleyways and empty streets; men and women walked up and down boulevards and sidewalks chatting casually, more than a few hanging around under doorways and brown-stone steps. The sun was shining, the clouds parted and everything was a dizzying prospect.

Nita had unwittingly made her way to the middle of the road as she stopped to marvel at the new city when a hand abruptly tugged her to a very solid, cotton clad chest; saving the girl from becoming roadkill. Bucky had held her close and slammed his hand on the chassis of the car when the very outraged, very rude taxi-driver honked its horn.

"We're walkin' here!" Bucky angrily spouted with a practiced hiss.

"Watch where you're goin' lady!" The taxi-driver squawked as he shook a meaty fist. He was left muttering as he drove away, "Damn idiot kids."

Bucky had walked the both of them back to the side-walk, wary to avoid more traffic; she looked to him as he put an arm around her; his blue shirt bringing out his stormy dark looks and his concerned eyes. A few stray hairs drooping out from his combed back style. He examined her, "You okay, doll?" Nita nodded her head in reply, grateful for his intervention. Steve reached them then, and as per usual—out of breath, his eyes flashed with worry,

"What happened?"

"Just some ass almost hitting Nita with his goddamn cab." Bucky replied, smoothing his hair back. "Pardon my French."

"What were you thinking, Nita?" Steve reprimanded, tugging at her sleeve, she looked down to meet his eyes. "You could have gotten hurt."

"Yeah…and a lot worse than how you are now." Bucky re-joined. "Missus Rogers would have had to dig a second grave after she was done with her son. Can't let you die now can we?"

"I was thinking, that I had to get back to my brother—Peter." She defended, "For all he knows, I could be dead. I have to _leave_."

"Well, do you know where you're even _going_?" Steve sighed, "We can take you there. To a station. How's that sound?"

"S'long as it's close." Bucky supplied, earning him a smack in the chest from Steve. It told him to be more sensitive about the whole situation.

The girl avoided their gaze, feeling embarrassment, lost for words and starting to grow hot under the heat of the day. Nita ignored it as best she could. Her cheeks reddened. "Do you have anywhere to go?" Steve asked further.

She shook her head, "No, I…"

"Do you know how to get there?"

"No…"

"Then you're staying with us." Steve decided, it wasn't a question, it was the kind of statement that left no room for arguments. No debates, you only follow. "Ma and I found you, it's only natural we'd be responsible for you."

"Since when?"

"Since we fished you from the gutter and brought you home." Steve managed with some sass. "We can't in good conscience let you walk away when you're not even supposed to be out of bed."

The girl struggled for a response "I-I can't stay."

"Why not?" Steve challenged with a steely determination.

Bucky's voice was softer now, "You said it yourself, Nita. You don't have any place to go. And you're not going to do anybody any favours by getting yourself killed, not even Peter." The dark-haired boy added, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I can't stay, I have to go." Indecision crossed her face.

"Go where?" Bucky stared her down, his mouth frowning.

He was right, it seemed at least for the time being, she was stuck. _How does the saying go? Between a rock and a hard place? More like between two trouble-making Brooklyn boys._ She looked at her hands.

"Kid's right, Nita. You can't just go." Bucky smiled kindly.

Nita scoffed in silly incredulity, her eyes starting to prick from the filling water; she was taken back and so very confused. _Why? Why would they do this for someone they barely know? I could be a criminal! A murderer!_ She was unsure why they were so ready to offer their hospitality to her. _But_ _ **Peter**_ _helped you. Is it really that hard to believe that there might be actual decent, loving people out there?_

"Take a chance on us." Steve grinned, as if he read her thoughts, offering his hand, hoping to lead her back inside.

The girl looked around her, hesitant. She definitely stood out from the Brooklyn crowd, if her dark-red leathers weren't much of a give-away, the weapons under said clothes surely would; she held herself oddly, more like soldier on a battlefront than the young adolescent they saw; her whole existence there was off. _How in the void am I supposed be able to fit in here? I stick out like a bloody thumb._ She questioned herself, it wasn't for the first time that she did, nor would it be for the last.

Though when she looked at the two boys; _really_ looked at them: she saw nothing but sympathy, kindness and good intentions. Steve was there: smaller than her, but so much bigger in a sense; with his honest charm and his well-rounded softness; the proverbial bleeding heart. Then there was Bucky who she was still a bit uncertain of; he somewhat discomfited her with his maelstrom of careless grins and his solid warmth; how could she not be frightened of his easy-to-love bravado…his perilous mien? She blew out a breath, unbelieving of what she was about to do.

The city was alive all around her, it was a new adventure to behold. The sky swirled in a whorl of fluffy whites and a dappling of delicate blues; her heart pounding to a delicious and magnificent beat; the scarlet line of her mouth: an upward curvature explicating her newfound joy. She took his waiting hand.

This new world around her seemed in constant motion, much like her travels with her brother. And maybe she had just found her new home. Stranger things have happened after all. Even perhaps something that could top falling through the very fabric of space-time. As the summer day was spent, Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes walked arm in arm with a blonde they hardly knew and more than they've ever bargained for.

* * *

 _Fools rush in_

 _Where angels fear to tread_

 _And so I come to you my love_

 _My heart above my head_

 _Though I see_

 _The danger there_

 _Then I don't care_

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter 3 playas! Whoop Whoop! It's good, if I might say so myself. Ah, well. I'll never know unless you plan on review my lovely reader….just a suggestion. This has been my longest chapter yet, over 5,000 words!

Songs featured in this chapter are obviously Rupert Holmes' "Escape" alternatively known as "The Pina Colada Song" and "Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread)" you might want to check out Frank Sinatra's version or She & Him's take on the song which I especially had in mind. Hell, check out the Elvis version of this song, it's great too, kind of campy but so satisfying.

Have an opinion? I want to hear it. PM is always open or review if that floats your boat. Chapter 4 is coming soon, probably. I'm evil, I know it.

I do not own any characters you might recognise, they are the property of Disney and Marvel. Nor do I own "The Pina Colada Song" or "Fools Rush In". Otherwise, I would actually have money. I do own my OCs.

Many thanks! And happy fanfic hunting!

-HannahBananasxx


	4. In Brief Interludes

_**Chapter Four –**_ _ **In Brief Interludes...**_

* * *

 _If the stars don't shine, if the moon won't rise, if I never see the setting sun again,_

 _You won't hear me cry, this I testify; please believe me, boy, you know I wouldn't lie._

 _As long as there is_

 _You and me_

* * *

I.

It had been a week since she first arrived and already, Nita had carved a small place for herself in the Rogers' home. She was immensely grateful for Sarah and Steve for letting her stay in their place and she grew to be exponentially attached to them in that short period of time. She loved Steve's patience, obviously imbibed from his mother; she would never admit to it but Sarah's fretting over her warmed Nita's heart. The Rogers family were a kind and generous sort of people; noble and proud, they shared everything they had even if it was so little...and their nature made it so that she could do nothing but accept their generosity and say thank you. Nita wasn't afraid to say it, she was more than a little intimidated by Sarah's intensity.

Though mostly, Nita appreciated their lack of needing to pry; on their first evening together the two—along with Steve's friend 'Bucky'—had asked Nita questions about who she was, where she came from; and while it was hard to want to be honest with them, yet still remain rather ambiguous about her origins, the mother and son respected her lack of answers and was content enough (for the time being) to drop it and move on.

She explained that they couldn't possibly take her in, with no income or even a name for herself, she did not want to be dependent in the kindness of the family, but Sarah insisted, so far as to get her to wearing some of Sarah's old clothes that didn't fit her as good as it did half a decade ago and arranged for her to be able to take turns with Steve for either sleeping on the couch or the bed. So here she was, living her new life as Nita Quill: blond, sixteen (probably), standing over 5'9", and will be attending high school at the end of the summer: approximately in a month's time. They introduced her to the neighbours earlier that morning, thankfully not as the half-dead girl they picked up from the street; but as Nita, Sarah's niece, recently moved from Canada, _with nothing suspicious about her at all_ ; and if they might find her a bit odd-well, they simply chalked it up to the fact that they didn't know much about Canadian customs either. Nita figured she owed a lot to the "Great White North".

Nita was more than confused, "But why Canada?"

Bucky, whose hands were sticky from the apple he munched on wiped them on his trousers, "Because. No one bothers to check up on Canada anyway." he bit unto the apple once more.

Steve nodded quietly along in serious thought, "It's true."

* * *

II.

It was deathly quiet as she entered the new room: in an instant, 29 pairs of eyes were glued to her. Nita cringed and felt like crawling back into her own skin, maybe eating herself bit by bit until nothing would remain but a mouth which led to a very full stomach, or even wishing for her father to come find her-well, _almost_.

The man who guided her inside wrote her name down on the board careful in sloping writing. A girl in the front row sneezed as the chalk got into her sinuses. Nita Quill fiddled with the end of her braid that reached just a little lower than her shoulders, patting down the soft strands to one side. Her hands cautiously moved downwards again to smoothen her borrowed skirt. She found Steve's eyes who nodded at her steadily, trying to reassure her in her uneasy state, her posture may not have showed it but the anxiety was in her eyes. Bucky, who sat next to Steve was positioned right beside the window, he had his hand propping up his chin, his teeth were biting at the nail of his thumb and he looked at her as if he was sharing some kind of joke. He smiled his wolfish smile.

The man in the front told her to introduce herself. She did.

He motioned for the only empty seat in the room, right in front of Bucky and perpendicular to Steve. Oh. _Oh._ She relieved at least that it was gonna be Barnes that would bother her (someone she knew) rather than a complete stranger.

29 pairs of eyes again followed her as she sat in her seat and took out her books and pens. She saw Steve nodding to her once more; kind, quiet Steve. The man on the front-the teacher began his lesson soon after, and the attention from the 29 pairs of eyes decreased. At some point she felt the hot fanning of breath on her neck, on the corner of her eye, she saw him, leaning forward from his seat. Neck craning, Bucky whispered to her in a secretive voice, his breathing tickling her sensitive ears, "Welcome to highschool Nita Quill."

* * *

III.

Sarah was out doing another shift at the hospital leaving Steve and Nita alone for the rest of the afternoon. It was about 4.30pm, they were seated at the kitchen table sided by side, meticulously working through their calculus homework together. "I think I've got it," Nita exclaimed after a particularly hard question. She looks over her shoulder to Steve's neatly written worked solutions. Finding her answer completely different to his, Nita grumbles in frustration, harshly rubbing out her previous answer, "Never mind." she says.

Steve just gives her a sympathetic look.

The apartment door opens with a bang. "Jesus, Buck! You gotta take it easy with that door, Ma says you're gonna take it off it's hinges." Steve begins scolding his friend who just takes him by the shoulders, ignoring his nagging.

"C'mon, let's get outta here." Bucky tells him, handing Steve his jacket.

Steve takes the jacket thrusted to him, his left brow raised. "Where are we going?"

"We're gonna sneak into Mazlow's Forum, they're showing that Frankenstein picture again!"

Steve scratched his head, and looked at nothing in particular. His friend has seen it four times already, none of those times were legally paid for. "I...I don't think Ma's gonna appreciate me going without paying… I mean we almost got caught last time."

Bucky gave him a condescending look, "Well do you got any money on you?"

The blonde shrugged, "No, but-"

"No buts! C'mon let's go! It's a perfectly good Friday and we're wasting it." Damn him, he made a good case. Or maybe it was just Steve's urge to assert himself to his friends, he wasn't sure.

Steve floundered,"What about Nita?"

Nita, who had been silently watching the exchange perked up immediately. Bucky gave her a look, it was the look an older sibling gave when a parent forces them to take their younger sibling out. Bucky had probably meant to just take Steve since it's been awhile since just the two of them did something crazy, the last time was way before Nita's appearance too.

She knew he just didn't want to be rude, she saw it in his face. Nita was happy none the less when the next words came out of his mouth. "Then we'll take her with us. C'mon, Nita." he said along with a gesture of his head "C'mon."

She smiled and shut her notebook, wordlessly slipping on her sweater. Nita had almost just put one foot out the door when Bucky stopped and turned to her, a finger raised in caution. "Just...don't go blabbing, alright? Then we won't be able to show our faces there no more."

It was like that for the most of their way there. It was understandable at first until it started being downright infuriating. Her eyes were going to be permanently glued to the back of her head at the rate she was rolling them at the boy. It was things like, _"We're gonna have to be quick, so keep up!"_ or _"Act casual, you wouldn't want them to sniff us out, do you?"_ or her favourite: _"Don't act all prissy when we get there, alright? If you're in, you're in. Absolutely no backing out."_

It almost took everything for her to stay quiet and not shake him by the shoulders shouting: " _I get it, OK! You're the one being a flaming nag!"_ But she couldn't say anything, how could she? They'd kick her out most definitely if she protested.

Still, she proved herself by easily slinking over the chainlink fence of the Forum's back alley; Bucky was coloured impressed while leaving Steve wishing to be anywhere near as graceful. Next, she even showed them a thing or two when she proceeded to jimmy the lock of the backstage door, picking it under twenty seconds flat. The way Bucky turned to her was almost in horror, his eyebrows raised, he couldn't believe what he just saw. Smirking, she could recognise the sheen of pride in Steve's eye as if saying: _"Look at my friend. Isn't she great?"_ she was sure he was sticking his chest out a little bit.

The three of them enjoyed themselves profoundly, Bucky even finding the couple of sodas he stashed the last time he was there. Their backs to the wall, the smell of musty curtains curling around them. Bucky handed her the bottle of pop with a nod. And she nodded back with a smile, taking the drink. He looked at her differently, a newfound sense of admiration. Nothing more needed to be said as they turned their attention back to the screen, knees knocking against one another.

They ended the night like this: three teens sitting shoulder to shoulder passing around bottles of warm soda as they watched Frankstein bring his monster to life, the images flipped as they watched the picture show behind the curtains, cramped together and bathed in the fantastic light of the projector.

The couple in the front row couldn't tell if it was due to the special tricks pulled in the picture that gave it such an eerie vibe...but they swore they could hear laughing, if not ominous, then privy to some inside joke they could not help but want to be a part of.

* * *

IV.

For the mean time, she supposed that it was good a time as any to find a job for herself. Nita had figured that she might as well work for some money to at least pay back the the Rogerses in miniscule increments she could afford. Plus, it was good to have something to do, it took her mind away from utterly depressive thoughts like:

 _What if I never find Peter again?_

 _Does he know that I'm alive?_

 _Does he think I'm dead?_

 _How am I supposed to get back?_

 _What if I really am dead; in which case, this is totally not the afterlife I signed up for._

As luck would have it, menial duty was all it took to keep her thoughts blissfully blank and no where near as self-destructive as it initially was. And it was all thanks to B.J. Turner.

B.J. Turner was a little man, in his fifties with a long, hooked nose and a hideously unconvincing comb-over (made in an effort to hide his very large bald spot). He also tended to be very impatient, which was bad news for anyone he didn't like. However, the only thing he did have going for him was that he owned the only diner in the neighbourhood that can serve a halfway-decent cup of joe and an edible plate of short-stacks and eggs.

It was a good thing as it turned out that despite how much B.J. Turner wanted to fire some of his employees, he had no choice but not to do so. Take Marty, the cook, despite how much he whined about how much he liked to take his damn sweet time in the kitchen, nobody complained because it was so worth the wait. Betsy the waitress, was 42, and somewhat of a layabout, stubborn and coarse, but she's worked at the diner for so long that she just became a permanent face, and nobody could have imagined the place without her and the constant smell of smoke she puffed from the one cigarette she always pinched into the corner of her mouth.

Finally, Nita. B.J. wouldn't dream of kicking her out either, not since he hired her more than six weeks ago, she was his most efficient worker, she learned fast and got shit done. Additionally, the customers thought she was friendly and liked seeing a new face in the old joint.

Even though B.J. disapproved of her two loafing friends-the ones he called 'Knucklehead' and 'Runt'-he wouldn't do anything too bad against the boys. He was usually peeved as they hardly bought anything and preferred to hang around one of the booths waiting for Nita to finish her shift. But hey weren't the bad sort of kids who were getting into gangs and picking fights left-right-and-centre-he at least believed that they had a little more sense than that. So B.J. mainly let them go about their business, keeping his nagging to an occasional frequency-that is-as long as Knucklehead and Runt didn't bother Nita too much while she was working.

Currently, the girl in discussion was wiping down tables covered in spilled strawberry milkshake, "I don't see why you two insist on haunting this place." Nita said as she wiped the soppy linoleum surface, once or twice she had to wring the milky rag over a bucket to get it clean, the rag giving an off-putting squelching as she mopped the mess.

"Where do you propose we should go?" Knucklehead asked, his dark brow inquisitive whilst he gave a nonplussed expression. He spun the coin he was playing with around again and again on the tabletop.

Runt, beside him, scratched his blonde head as he sketched something on a napkin from the dispenser.

"I don't know," she replied. "Somewhere _not_ here. I'm getting a lot of heat from B.J. as it is." Nita went behind the counter, searching for a glass which she quickly filled up with water and handed to a man in a booth near them.

"It's not like the old man's gonna fire you anyway, angel-face." Knucklehead declared, earning him a loud scoff from the old man who counting the money in the cash register.

"Not the point, Bucky." she said with a silencing glance aimed at the taller friend, she picked up the coffee pitcher and moved toward them. "Want a refill Stevie?" she asked the blonde with a smile.

Runt looked up from his detailed rendering of the diner interior, his pen stopping on the napkin. "Uh, sure, Nita." he answered, reaching into his jeans and taking out some change; the coins clattering on the table. Nita counted the exact amount and swiped the coins into her pocket, pouring another cup for her friend.

"Bah," Knucklehead-Bucky said, swatting the air with one hand. "We like it here, don't we Steve?"

"Hmm?" Steve barely acknowledged, not even taking his attention away from his drawing in which he was furiously applying more lines and shading to as if struck with newfound inspiration.

Bucky shook his head at the kid, making Nita laugh as she put menus away. "As I was saying, we like it here, it's nice, it's inside and we get to sit down. Plus, you get to serve us food and coffee. Ain't it fantastic?"

"Isn't it just?" Nita repeated with a bite of sarcasm, fixing her white apron over her pink uniform, "Any chance you're going to pay for this food and coffee?" She met his sparkling eyes, a smart challenge playing at the corner of her lips.

* * *

V.

A new scene now. It was a scene with vivid greens, cheerful yellows, clear blues and palpable reds. It spun around her creating this new whimsical haze of glorious memory. Summer. August 5, 1935. Manhattan. It had been a year since Nita Quill came hurtling into their lives.

She was sitting on a green wooden bench eating a cherry-popsicle, sandwiched between her two friends: that's where Nita found herself one Wednesday morning near Central Park. Exhausted from a day of walking, the trio found a nice secluded bench to sit on and decided to splurge a little, buying popsicles from a nearby vendor.

"Ya know, Stevie, your problem is _not_ that you're a skinny little snot. It's because you're too shy to ask anybody out. I'm sure Amanda Johnson might be too nice to turn you down. I say go for it." Bucky had this careless way of lording himself in any situation, his half-eaten popsicle wagging as he made swishing gestures with his hand. They were juniors now and Bucky would be damned if he didn't score his friend a date to the dance that coming Friday.

"I'm only too shy to because they've all turned me down in their minds even before I ask." Steve retorted, looking down at a clump of grass he was toeing with his shoe. "You remember when Derek Samuels told all the girls during freshman year not to go to the dance with me and they all went along with it?"

Nita pursed her lips in his crestfallen remark, but kept a close eye on her melting treat.

His friend huffed. "Nah, buddy. Don'tcha get started on that. All you gotta do is ask." Bucky urged, setting his jaw in determination.

"I still say, trying to save face might be the better option for me at this point." Steve nodded his head but kept his gaze on the ground. "C'mon Buck, who would want me?" he said in near whisper. Nita heard his voice like he was choking on gravel, for all of Steve Rogers' bravado and recklessness, she also knew about the boy's stunning insecurities. Her heart broke for him and she felt her blood boil for all the punks that ever saw to hurt her friend.

"See, there it is again, that's your problem!" Bucky accused pointing the dripping, half-eaten popsicle at Steve. "Too stubborn, an' I'm only try'na help."

"Will ya' lay off on him? Just drop it Buck." Nita said, "He'll be my date then, right? Their loss." She said eying the darker haired boy critically, he stared back at the girl with an unknown look that broke over his features, it lasted only for the fraction of a second. He huffed again, but the girl rolled her eyes dramatically. "We both get a date and save ourselves from boring partners that won't know any better. Win-win." Nita said with a breezy persuasiveness.

The blonde looked to the girl with a lingering smile. "You mean well Buck, but just save it alright?" Steve shrugged his shoulders and scratched his face.

"No. Steven. Grant. Rogers." With every intoning of a syllable he would continue to jut his popsicle stick closer, across Nita to point it directly at Steve. The popsicle itself dangled perilously over the tip of the wooden stick. "You do this all the time, c'mon. Amanda's great."

"I wanna go with Nita. You go have fun with your own date. Or bully someone else into taking Amanda out. I know you're only pushing this Amanda thing because you're going with Janet and she's Amanda's friend."

Bucky groaned at this reply, dejectedly putting his face in his hands. "Fine. I tried, I tried." He said talking to himself. "It's like talking to a brick wall!" At that final expression he flourished the stick he was branding, the aggressive flick sending the sticky frozen substance flat unto Nita's collarbone with a sickly _PLOP!_

Steve and Bucky watched on in horror, their mouths parted agape-an internal monologue of full panic racking their nerves as Nita sat there immobilised staring straight out before her, her mouth puckered small, eyebrows shooting upwards.

It was terrible and fascinating at the same time, Bucky pulling at the skin of his face, stupefied at the sight of the block of purple ice skidding ever so sadly down her chest unto the bodice of her yellow dress. At this point, they were already dead to make a run for it. "Ah, _shit_."

* * *

 _When love is real, you don't have to show it._

 _When it is true, then everyone will know._

 _'Cause there'll be no one but_

 _You and me_

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter 4! Who's excited?! From here on, I might be hopping around from event to event and as you've seen before there's a lot of flashbacks incorporated into the main storyline mix, so chronologically, it will be out of whack. More things to come, should actually head towards the canon MCU story pretty soon, and I can't wait. Now, I'll just have to write it, whoopee!

The song featured in this chapter is "You and Me" by the Penny Quarters. I've really enjoyed the music so far, what about you? If maybe you have any song suggestions that I should look at or suggestions, comments, review in general, I would appreciate it. I'd love to know what I should improve on and how to get better and just things you've liked about the story currently or something you've anticipated. I'd love to know or have a chat, so feel free to review or send me a an opinion? I want to hear it. Chapter 5 will be there when it will be there.

I do not own any characters you might recognise, they are the property of Disney and Marvel. Nor do I own "You and Me", if I did, I would actually then have some musical talent. I do own my OCs.

Many thanks! And happy fanfic hunting!

-HannahBananasxx


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